Mountain of Full Moons

by Irene Kessler

  “What information did Melchizedek share with you?” Kotharat’s high tone makes her sound anxious.

  Resheph describes the events at the king’s house and adds, “Elisha is willing to work as much as she can and Melchizedek approved. He is ready to teach her.”

  While Resheph speaks with softness, Kotharat does not. “Of course she is willing. We will provide a roof over her head. What other answer would she give?”

  “Oh, Ima.” That is Nikkal. “Do not be that way. That girl is nice.”

  “She may be agreeable but she is not Canaanite. Elisha is Hebrew.”

  “But Ima, why does that matter?” Nikkallets out a brusque sigh.

  “I need her to help me. She is appealing to the eye and from the way your brother gapes at her, I do not need a talisman to foretell what might happen.”

  “Your mother is right.” The tone that chides Resheph is harsh and grating, not concerned and helpful as it was with me when I arrived. “A match of that kind will never be. Are you listening, my son? I also noticed the way your eyes keep track of her every move.” Baal’s voice is rising. “You are too absorbed with her.”

  “I tried to make her comfortable.”

  “Your father was across the alley and heard you say she was agreeable in appearance. He watched you try to take her hand.” Kotharat’s voice shakes with frustration. “You listen to me. This will go no further. My son will not wed a Hebrew.”

  “Ima. You may wake her.”

  “I do not care. I am trying to save us from heartache. We will never tolerate this happening, Resheph. Are your ears wide open?”

  After much mumbling and grumbling the house grows still. Their words chase each other around my head. Though I made this family my own they made clear he would not be mine. My heart does not agree.

  “He is yours,” it yells at me.

  “It will not be.”

  “Your heart keeps telling you so.”

  “It can never happen.”

  But in my heart of hearts I am certain I will find a way.

  The first meal is over and I hurry to take care of my duties. Being in a new place makes me uneasy and the longing to be with my family is strong. Resheph finishes his tasks.

  “Are you going?” He posed the same question every morning for the past three suns, each time his tone scraping closer to my bones.

  “Yes, my lord. I am ready. Nervous, but well enough thanks to your ima’s care.”

  “We need to leave. Get yourself organized.”

  We hurry down the footpath. Resheph ignores me. His conversation was spirited before. I want to run back to the house and pull the cover over my head.

  He stops and turns to me. “Elisha.” For a moment, he seems like a little boy afraid to ask me a question.

  “Yes?”

  “Do not be bothered by me. I am fine.”

  “Please, you can ask.”

  “You make me uncomfortable. We live in the same house, please do not call me my lord.”

  “I am sorry. I did not mean to do that. Of course, I will abide by your wishes.”

  “Your appearance is quite fine.”

  We are near the house and my throat is completely dry. My fingers move though I did not command them to, almost as if I am playing my harp. We are at Melchizedek’s house.

  Resheph throws open the gate to my future and ushers me in. Unlike my earlier visit, the house is bright, lit with many oil lamps. What is not clear is why the king of Salem, who is rich, lives in a house sparer than my host.

  The cheerful pillows on the floor give a hint of wealth. Their colors shine, so they are made from an expensive fabric. The cushions are placed in a half circle around a woven floor covering. Resheph comes to me. “That picture is of the Great Vulture.”

  “I was told it is the Nesher.”

  “I believe you are wrong. Melchizedek would know.”

  I am glad I did not say I heard it at a men’s meeting I eavesdropped on. The picture shows the bird’s commanding wings in gold, a bald head, large curved beak, and powerful talons I would never want to be near. Close to the vulture are gentle doves, painted with silver wings and feathers of white touched with blue.

  Three young men who seem close to Resheph’s age are deep in conversation. Another female is here, a woman of great beauty, older than me. Her eyes are decorated with black on top and bottom, her hair is perfect, her face is glowing. She is too attractive to befriend me. I choose a golden yellow pillow and hope the students will be kinder than my friends at home.

  Melchizedek comes in. The sight of his elegant strides tells me I am awkward. He is not the problem. The trouble lives in me. Can I do the work? A woman and slow will I understand this important man’s words?

  He sits and waits for us to settle. After a short greeting he stands. “I will not be teaching.”

  One of the men yells out, “Are we dismissed?”

  “If you wish to miss Abram’s lessons, go.” The whole group yells over each other, but quiets as he raises his hand. “I must leave for a while and Abram has consented to teach this gathering until he and Sarai leave to continue south.”

  The deepest most rooted center of my being stirs like a pot of thick stew. What Sandalphon promised is about to happen.

  Melchizedek claps his hands for attention. “Abram pursues truth and dedicates himself to finding a worthy way for people to live. I pray to El-elyon and Abram calls him the Holy Spirit. God sent him from his father’s house to wander through Palestine.”

  If I lived with Abram, I would be afraid to say one word. He is wise and I thoughtless. Melchizedek’s softer tone interrupts my reflecting.

  “We grow up with loved ones and where they are will always be home. The connection is one of the deepest we will experience. Yet, God said to Abram, ‘remove yourself from what is dear.’ How many of you did something similar?” I will not cry. Only Resheph and the young woman with the fine-looking wavy black hair do not raise their hands.

  A man comes into the room and peers around. The sight of him makes me gulp. He is younger than I expected.

  “Abram. You arrive before time.” Melchizedek rises to greet him. The others do the same, but I cannot move. The glow surrounding him overpowers me though the features I study do not stand out against other men. Trying to stand and join the group, I stumble.

  Abram smiles at me. His eyes shine brightly next to Melchizedek’s dark ones. I never saw blue eyes before. “No, my child. Raise yourself and do not stoop before me. I am not the Holy Spirit, but his messenger, no more and no less than you. Rise and let me see you.”

  I struggle to stand and seem like a fool again. This would not happen to Lady Beautiful. Resheph runs over to help me.

  Abram’s skin is darker than mine, the color of sandy soil. His dark hair is wavy. The thick and unkempt beard reaches below his chest and is so inviting I want to climb into the fur of his chin to escape his gaze. The curly hair of his mustache battles its way along the sides of his mouth to join the whiskers.

  Abram takes his time observing each of us as if that will tell him our deepest secrets.

  That makes me squirm. His eyes fall on Resheph.

  “And your name is?”

  “It is Resheph, my lord.”

  “Ah, yes. Melchizedek spoke of you doing well in your studies. He said you wish to be a teacher like he is.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Resheph tidies his hair. We sit to listen. It seems Abram assumes Resheph is the best student in the class.

  “Beware young man,” Abram goes on, “while you do well in that area, there are dark places like a pestilence in your soul. You have little regard for the safety or feelings of others. Know that your acts, harsh as they may be, will be returned to you tenfold. Punishment for misdeeds will be administered.”

  With his head held high, Resheph walks away without answering. I lower my eyes as he goes by. His cheeks are red. He was haughty, and with a wise man. If Abram talks to me like that, I will die right here. Abra
m may not be as wise as people make him out. Resheph has been kind and generous. Abram sits and points to Yadid who approaches with slow steps and wide eyes.

  “Do not be afraid. Your name?”

  “I am Yadid, my lord.” He is the one who opened the gate on my first visit.

  “You are a beloved friend and an able student.” Yadid smiles. “Others take advantage of your kindness and you accept it. The result of gentleness spread too far can be resentment of the time and effort you put forth when others do not return the same. Fill your spirit with love, young man. When you do, you can give without reserve.”

  Am I gentle? Will Abram speak to me?

  “Who is next?”

  “My name is Yardin.” He walks with a sure step and stands gazing at Abram.

  “You are brave in your stance and sureness of who you are, yet you doubt your abilities. The underbelly of bravery is thinking you can do it all which may produce a conceited and self-centered man. Your name carries the essence of descent. Take care and lift yourself. You are meant to overcome your name.”

  For me, doubt is always present. I might as well give up if I do not try. I do succeed at times if I am not stopped by fear. If Abram tells me I am a fool, I will walk back to my family and accept any punishment.

  The beautiful one does not wait to be called. She walks with her hips swinging. How can I fix myself to walk like that? Ima said, “Your nose is too big, and your mouth turns down.” I do not chew on my hair if Resheph is near. What can Abram say to her? She is perfect.

  “Peace be with you. Your name?”

  “I am Adi, my lord.”

  “If you wish, you can become the jewel you are named. Your parents spoiled you, so you expect each and every person to bow to your needs and wishes. You are forward in your dealings and arrogant with the men who come into your life. If you continue, there may be grave consequences.” He waves her away.

  She skulks back to her seat with her head lowered. With my jealousy of her I could not imagine beauty caused challenges. Abram understands people without ever meeting them. Am I too forward? I like Resheph so much but he does not speak of how he feels. Abram may be wise but he is wrong about Resheph.

  The youngest of the men approaches as if he must put his hand into a fire. “Peace be with you, Abram. I am Calev.”

  “Peace be with you. Why are you so frightened of what I might say? Not a word has been uttered.”

  “I fear the worst.”

  “Are you so unsure of yourself?”

  Calev bows his head. “I guess I am.”

  “Has no one told you how wonderful you are?”

  “No, never.” His laugh mocks himself.

  “What a pity. Your name means ‘like a heart’ and says you are compassionate. Each of us is unique and born with a special gift, which helps us to deal with problems in a different way. Your way of serving allows you to help someone I cannot. Hold your head high and claim your gift.”

  Am I compassionate? I have no special gift except maybe my songs. Calev moves away and Abram stares straight at me. “You had a respite and now please.” He motions for me to come forward. “Your name?”

  “It is Elisha, my lord.” Fingers, arms, toes, every part of me needs to fidget.

  “Your eyes speak of a simple life. Wounds affected your youthful years. Those experiences taught you to open your heart, though you do not yet consult this greatest friend. My hope is for you to use these gifts well.”

  What does he want of me? My voice catches in my throat and comes out choked up. “Thank you, my lord. I do not understand what I am supposed to do.”

  “Be open to what is taught and trust you will find the information you seek. Most important, you will not learn to find joy and a way to express your feelings unless you are open and honest. Then you can speak without restrictions. Think of a way for your words to sing or become poems. Do not hide what you think is undesirable about yourself. When you do, that which holds you back for fear of being wrong will disappear. You will find your strengths and be free to choose what you want. Your passage requires small steps like a child. It is a long and sometimes demanding journey.” Abram dismisses me.

  He sounds like Sandalphon with his leaves. I return to my pillow. My wandering attention removes me from the surroundings. What are my better parts? My heart is open. The bad? I do not speak with freedom. Is that dishonest? I do not make choices and hide the desirable. He did mention songs and words.

  “Thank you.” Abram’s voice startles me. “I will be here for a short time and am honored to teach what I can. Our studies commence.”

  He continues teaching about what you do and knowing who you are. I do not listen and try to write a new song Abram will approve of. My head is too crowded to appreciate what he is saying.

  Lessons are over. This is my first time here, and already I struggle to keep up. The determination to focus was not successful. My body is awake but my head is stuffed with confusing thoughts. I try to ponder Abram’s statement. My insides shake and I want to go home. Resheph is busy gossiping so I leave for home. He runs to my side. “Thank you for helping me stand.” I smile then lower my eyes.

  “You are welcome. Next time, you will stand up yourself. Did you see Abram’s tunic? It is of the same tan linen as yours and it is just as plain.”

  “Yes, but mine is not as fine.”

  “I will say this. You look lovely, but your garment is horrid. Holes go through in many places. Yet you still wear the cover.” He laughs.

  I grit my teeth and tears come to my eyes. “On my journey men put their arrows through this tunic and the other one got caught on a piece of wood. My family is poor and my garments but two. Your ima refused to allow me to weave a new one.”

  “I am sorry. I had no way to know.”

  “One more question. Every Canaanite prays to the One God because Melchizedek does. Why does your family keep idols?”

  “My parents think they are nice to look at. No one cares as long as we pray well.”

  “That is like my home. We also have both.”

  He is not willing to say more. I think Abram’s seething comments demand his attention, but I am not done. “May I ask you another question?”

  “You are full of them.”

  “It is confusing. They both pray to the One God, yet Abram and your king have different names for him.”

  “Melchizedek says the prayer is important not the name one uses. He and Abram think alike.”

  “Do you believe God gets angry?”

  “My teacher said he does. Everybody gets angry, so why would he not?”

  “Does he bring the floods?” Resheph does not answer. “Do any of the others in class come from Hebrew parents?”

  “That was never discussed.”

  I nod. “Was Abram right in his opinions of us?”

  “I think perhaps in some instances.”

  I turn my head away. “Do I speak untruths?”

  “I heard none.”

  “He said words about pestilence for you.”

  Resheph moves ahead. “I do not understand why he said it and do not agree.” I catch up to him and there is silence the remainder of the way home.

  The evening meal cleaned up, I run to my mat. Away from the family, I consider Abram’s meaning. Why did he mention my wounds? He said what we do needs to come from the heart. Does he mean to invent songs from there? Do we open the heart and let it pour out? The impure pieces would taint the clean. What my heart can say to me is a big question.

  These ideas urge me to try again to create a new tune. My songs belong to me. I shared them with few others, but not because I did not want to. What will happen if Abram’s teachings are in my songs and many people hear them? That could be my answer. Is composing a challenge to courage?

  I search for the phrases to use. The first words Abram spoke before my head was too filled to listen were, “Always do what is right and be sure to use the right turn of phrase so no misunderstanding can occur.” I w
ant words to give people new ideas to think about. Like Abram’s messages from his God.

  My cloud appears. “Why do you make up songs?”

  “You scared me. I am happy to see you, Sandalphon,” I whisper, “but can you not creep up? And be careful or someone will find out you are here.”

  “Do you not remember they are not ready?”

  “You forget I yelled, and they can hear that.”

  “What do you like about singing?”

  “It makes me feel agreeable. It is the one thing I know I can do well.”

  “Is that all?”

  I turn away. “What do you mean?”

  “Think about why you use certain words when others will do.”

  “To make the songs appealing?”

  “Many people use them to better understand themselves and the realm they live in.”

  “Do I do that?” I study my feet.

  “I hope so.”

  I look up and he is gone. He left me with no answers. I need time alone and must not wake anyone. I tiptoe out of the house. The moon lights my way to a place I found on the lane away from the dwellings. Sandalphon said being peaceful and out in nature before composing aids the words and melody to appear.

  I sit in contemplation. What will help people appreciate Abram’s wisdom? An idea forms in my head but it is not right. The words are not skillful enough. Fear raises its head like a snake. I will not let the voices in my head tell me how bad my composition is. I send them to sleep on a cloud. “I will listen to your concerns when my work is done,” I chide and return to my thinking.

  The song comes together and I speak the words twice more. They do not say what I want and not enough exist to make a real song. I am disappointed.

  My time is filled with the chores Kotharat gives me, gardening, grinding, cleaning, and I am sad that I do not have enough moments to appreciate the trees, or music.

  Filled with sluggishness at the next morning’s rise, I force myself to get up from the mat. I woke before the others. Is gloom about to take possession of me again? I am irritated. Doubt and fear gnaw at me. I rail at myself for not being able to make a good song. Something else grumbles at me. My stomach. I cannot fix my ballad, but I can have something to eat.